This is just an attempt at logging where I've been so far, so I don't forget too much. I started it a while ago but lost steam. I should have done it on the go but what are you gonna do. As a result it's probably way too long and drawn out out , so feel free to skip over any self indulgent tales of exploits, or melodramatic introspection that may find it's way into my ramblings here. As it is, it probably only covers about half the trip. It's kind of hard to remember all the little details, especially all the interactions with people. Too bad I didn't capture them as I went, but I wasn't in the right mindset for it at the time.
I also wasn't really as motivated as I would have liked to take photos, and video until after I left SF, so that leaves a little to be desired here. A lot tougher to mix the mind state required for capturing life, with just living, and experiencing it. I don't really want to be in either too long, because it leaves the other one lacking, and they really are two totally different mindsets. Hopefully I'll still be able to find a way to capture some cool stuff while doing it in the future.
I also found out the manual focus lenses I bought for my 60D, are a lot tougher to get focus on than they were with the older SLR's I used to use. The SLR's had the split prism focus screen that easily brought everything in and out of focus with each little turn. Not sure why they didn't bring that to digital. They'll have to do for now though until I get some auto focus lenses, but that's just one thing on a long wish list of camera equipment.
Anyway, here's a recap of my trip through Cali if anyone's curious.
Part 1: Saying goodbye
The final days of San Diego crept up in fury of mixed emotions, and unknown adventures hanging in the balance. Had a nice send off BBQ fest at JT's. Jim, Zamm, Omar, JT, Amanda, and Maggie were all hangin. Plenty of whiskey, beers, and food were consumed before passing out on Ernie's mattress that was left behind, and I had subsequently taken over as my own in the garage.
I decided to get the windows tinted in my new Volvo the next day before leaving. That way I could crash in the back of the trusty wagon in between campsites and hotels to save a bit of cash. Jim, JT, Zamm and I ended up getting drinks at Acapulco before I headed out on the road which may or may not have been a good idea. It's usually me saying bye to those leaving, so I just stood around kinda dumfounded in the parking lot, not really sure how to leave some of my favorite people, and not sure when or if I'd see them again. I'm never good at goodbyes anyway, so eventually I just had to make the abrupt, "alright I'm taking off guys" or I'd never be able to make myself leave. Ended up being a lot harder than I thought.
After the long day of last minute plans, and drinks that lasted a little longer than expected, I left a little later, and a little drunker than I probably should have. As a result I didn't get very far. I planned on just stopping in San Clemente/Laguna Niguel for the night, since it always looked cool as I flew by on the 5 to my way somewhere else. This didn't lead to much, as I couldn't really find the parts I had seen during the day. After wasting an hour or so driving around, I made my way a little further north, and decided it was probably better if I didn't keep driving, as all the elements of the night were starting to catch up to me a bit. So I stopped off in classy Costa Mesa for my first stay in what would be my home on the road, the luxurious Motel 6. Not quite as far as one would hope for the first leg of a journey, but still a first leg none the less.
I decided I should stop by brother Steve's the next day, and catch up with him, and Jessica to say goodbye. This was my first experience with my iPhone throwing a wrench in my plans of getting me where I wanted to go, as if it was given instructions from Apple to make things tougher than they need to be. For some reason it has decided to both give me directions from somewhere I am not, whether it's another street, or in the middle of the ocean, and simultaneously tell me the wrong freeways to take. Which I'm sure the state of California is loving, after all the toll road booths that have appeared out of nowhere in my trust of this stupid phone. I can't wait for the iPhone 5 to come out, even if it does look like a ridiculously stretched out version of the 4.
Met up with Steve and Jessica finally at a group of food trucks down the street, and found Rogene and Delilah there too who I hadn't seen in a while. Did the customary catchup convo, and made our way back to Steve's for the night. Wandered around DTLA the next day waiting for Steve and Jess to get off work again. Found the Bradbury Building along the way, which is where most of the Blade Runner ending was shot. Really cool old office space that's still actually used. You just can't walk any higher than the main lobby, and half a flight of stairs unless you work there.
Apologies for the shitty photo. At some point the camera in this thing is just going to deteriorate into a pinhole camera only capable of black, and slightly less black photos. Hopefully the iRemote5, I mean iPhone 5, is out by then.
Also passed by the LA Times building littered with newspaper displays and photos of the Kings winning their first Stanley Cup. Wandered through a Mexican street vendor section just over the freeway, and some lip synching, fake instrument playing salsa band. Then made my way back on Alameda thinking about the Elliott Smith song, only to find out later down the road that Alameda is actually a tiny street, and a part of Portland which is probably what he was talking about.
After walking past the lazy and vacant doorman and up to Steve's place on the 17th floor, I was greeted, and simultaneously converted into liking Bud Light Lime, which I didn't expect Steve to be drinking, and much less that I would be fond of. Actually quite refreshing to drink during the day, after a long walk around the city. Now, Bud Light Lime-a-Rita? That's gonna be a tough sell. I'm trying it the first time I see it though, because that is a ridiculous sounding beer.
Ended up getting Dim Sum the next day for lunch, which somehow I managed never to have. Damn good flavors in those sauces. Something about the spice or something in it, and also Korean BBQ that just have a flavor you don't find in other foods. Got to find a way to get more of that flavor on a regular basis. I guess that's what Columbus was thinking as well. Maybe I'll discover a new country while I'm at it too….and call it flavor country.
Moving right along………After Dim Sum and a short walk back, it was time to say my goodbyes again, which didn't come any easier. Who the hell knows what to say at these times? It feels so much easier for everyone else. I made my best attempt, and then hopped in the wagon, finally feeling like I was leaving. No stops, and no routes planned ahead.
Part 2: Where to?
Stopped off to check out the fanciness of Malibu. It's about what you'd expect. I felt like I was gonna have the cops called on me for smoking a cigarette anywhere I walked. Checked out the beach. Checked out the houses. Then I went to make my contribution to their academic program in the form of a dump at Pepperdine University. After a bit of a fruitless search, I all but broke into one of their halls on a Sunday. After seeing a couple out front talking, and someone walking around inside what looked to be a study hall of some kind, I checked the door, and found it open. Made my way down some steps a few floors from ground level, only to get to what looked like a darkened underground set from Saved by the Bell. After a few twists, and turns past the dark classrooms, and lockers I found a huge bathroom with the serenity of no one within two floors can only bring, and only a handful of people have probably enjoyed at the University. All of which likely to be janitors on the midnight shift.
I ended up just saying fuck it, which has been verbalized more and more liberally ever since, to the point where it's probably time to tighten the reins on that phrase before I end up broke or dead. Anyway, Carpenteria at least has a strip of restaurants and a few bars, all of which basically shut down around 10pm, so that was no help to me. After stuffing down a subpar italian sandwich, I left in hopes of finding some kind of place that would pour alcohol down my throat, and I could try my hands at sleeping in the back of the Volvo for the first time. All the bars I passed were either pitch black, or in the midst of shutting off their lights. Except for one that was packed like sardines, and had a DJ rocking Steely Dan to a dance floor full of aging white tourists. Not my ideal spot, but I needed a drink. Almost fully expecting to walk in, and walk right out, I somehow slid through the door just as a guy was leaving his seat at the bar. I asked the older British gentleman in the seat next to it if it was taken, and was luckily again provided with a stout, "no, not anymore." This way I could blend into the bar, and have my drink without standing around like a jackass. The pumping Steely Dan provided just enough cover to prevent idle chit chat with the douchy drunken locals, and tourists.
After the DJ ended his set, a drunken fool came over and started chatting up the older gentleman next to me. With the music gone, and the aid of the hearing impaired drunkard to my right talking at a volume not really suited for his conversation, it turned out the British chap was a retired MI6 agent just in town, "for a visit." Whatever that means. Needless to say my ears perked up, and I spent the next 45 minutes or so eavesdropping and shaping this mans life story in my head between sips of Bulleit. The drunken kid, who I deduced must have either been the child or nephew of someone he knew finally left, after his attempts of seeing if the old man could get him into foreign countries for long stays under the radar. Which by the way, were met with complete politeness, and an "actually yes I could if you wanted" type of response.
Without wanting to empty my wallet in one night, and the spy chat dying down, I decided to head back to the car for the night, luckily finding it fully in tact, and slept like a baby.
I left the next day, spending a bit of time checking out any interesting towns along the way. Lots of cool little beach towns outside of LA. Saw a cool looking area and pulled off the freeway, and headed west, eventually deciding to just follow the open air tour bus ahead of me around town, figuring they'd show me the cool spots. After winding through some of the nice neighborhood homes, and scenic views, it led me to the ocean where there was a strip of art and craft vendors lined up on the grass right along the beach. Pretty cool atmosphere, and location for something like that, with the sun out, just the right amount of shade, and even a lit up merry go round. Started to feel the itch to move on, so I made my way back to the 101, and continued exploring a few more little beach towns before pulling off to camp at El Capitan State Beach.
I left the next day, spending a bit of time checking out any interesting towns along the way. Lots of cool little beach towns outside of LA. Saw a cool looking area and pulled off the freeway, and headed west, eventually deciding to just follow the open air tour bus ahead of me around town, figuring they'd show me the cool spots. After winding through some of the nice neighborhood homes, and scenic views, it led me to the ocean where there was a strip of art and craft vendors lined up on the grass right along the beach. Pretty cool atmosphere, and location for something like that, with the sun out, just the right amount of shade, and even a lit up merry go round. Started to feel the itch to move on, so I made my way back to the 101, and continued exploring a few more little beach towns before pulling off to camp at El Capitan State Beach.
It was a nice little camp area, with trails along the cliffs, and scenic views. Found a thin off beat trail under the trees, and through the flowers that the weekend warrior family campers were obviously scared to check out, but to those who grew up looking for secluded spots to smoke weed, and drink see as an obvious path to somewhere cool. It led down to a small cliff under a big tree with a nice view of the ocean. Naturally a few beer cans strewn about from some likeminded, but more selfish kids who found the path previously. I climbed down a small rock face, and parked my bag o beer, and myself down on the sand of the small crescent shaped cove area, and watched the sunset.
Woke up the next day and looked at the map on my phone, and realized that I might have miscalculated the distance to the next town, when I decided to make an extra trip out for food to cook the previous day. Passing by barren freeway exits, and signs of 30 miles to the next town didn't do me any favors when the gas light lit up on my dash. Shifting into neutral on hills, and slowing down to about 50 mph in the slow lane started to give a wiff of hope. The signs now saying 10, and 8 miles to go. Then with the sound of hope dying, it gave up. The decrescendo of the engine cursing me with it's last breath. About three miles shy of Buellton, where I was planning to fill up. Luckily last years winner of the best road side service operator/model (and not the other way around) came to my rescue and sent me on my way.
Tried to check out the famous Vanderberg Airforce Base, but it was all closed off. Lots of shitty little towns around these parts. Lompoc. Guadalupe. Los Osos a ways up. Shitholes.
Part 3: What a way for a duck to travel
I think the next major spot I stopped at was Pismo beach. I'd never been, and didn't know much about it, aside from it being left of Albuquerque. I had hoped to camp for free on the beach, as I had read you could drive your car up the shore a couple miles on the hard sand, and set up shop, but after looking up a ways, all I could see was the long row of F-50050's (or whatever they're up to now) and quads running around with their gay little triangle flags flapping the the wind. Apparently all the desert rats come up from Santa Barbara every weekend, and run wild on the joint annoying all the locals. Just my luck. So I checked out the town a little, had a nice seafood dinner, and crashed in a tiny little campground/RV spot along the road.
This is the Pismo butterfly reserve. You wouldn't believe how many butterflies there were. Not one. Not one goddamn butterfly! This must be some guys idea of a sick joke. In fact I think the guy living in the shanty house next to it owns the land, and put up all the fences, and signs just to fuck with people. Watch your step my ass.
Left the next day, and stopped to get coffee, and food at the last little beach town on the map, Avila Beach. Pretty cool. Just outside of Pismo, and a little touristy, but not big enough to be crazy, and still had a cool little, almost European vibe to it. A little white sandy beach with a pier extending out into the bright blue waters below. There was also a cool little area at the end of the pier, where you could walk down underneath on some steel grading to get a close look at the fish, and crustaceans mingling about.
Spent half the day making my way out, and around Montana De Oro. Only to be continually annoyed by California, and it's $45+ camp sites. That's the price of a friggin hotel room. Why should you have to pay to sleep outside? It just seems so ridiculous to me. Only in California do they find a way to rape you out of that much money, for sleeping in your own tent, on shitty uneven government owned dirt. I left in a huff and drove into the night up the 1, to find somewhere to crash in the car.
After passing by two or three more expensive beach campsites, I decided I needed to stop wherever the next exit was, because it was getting late, and I was exhausted. The pitch black two lane road in the middle of nowhere didn't exactly instill the sense of vigorousness needed to keep me awake at the wheel much longer.
The next exit was Cambria. There was a street that people used to park their RV's on for the night, but now all that could be seen were big signs warning against overnight parking, and camping. I found a little strip along the beach, that serves the locals and tourists alike with a few restaurants and bars during the day. Kind of a honeymoon, or weekend getaway type of spot. I parked under a big tree, off to the side of the road in the dark, and got out to hit the flask, and stretch my legs a bit on the paths along the water.
Great, I guess I'm not sleeping here tonight.
The last thing I want is to settle in for the night, and wake up to a mag-light banging on the window, and a cop telling me I need to move on. Then realize I've been drinking, and tow my car instead of letting me drive off. All this is going through my mind as I walk back to the car, slam the door, and discover I don't have my phone in my pocket. I spend the next 30 minutes waving a flashlight of my own around where I was hiding, and finally find it. Accepting defeat, I drive up the road a couple miles to San Simeon, and drop $50 for the Motel 6. Realizing I should have just paid for the fucking campsite, eight or so hours ago.
Part 4: Hearst Mobile
I wake up the next day at least grateful for the nice sleep on a nice bed. You really do start to forget how much better you sleep, and how well rested you wake up in a bed, as opposed to a rough ground or floor. It doesn't feel all that bad, but it causes you to shift around like a chicken on a spitroast, keeping you from getting a good deep sleep.
Bright eyed and bushy tailed at the crack of noon, I walk up the road to get coffee and breakfast for lunch, at the nearby diner. The smell of the ocean, and the open space right off the beach bringing about a good mood, I decide to hang out for the day, and maybe spend another night. Really cool area. It's right before Hearst Castle, which I later take the tour of, and take a bunch of shitty photos not worth displaying, due to my lack of foresight to bring my wide-angle.
There's only a couple restaurants, and couple small hotels in this part of San Simeon. Really small little half mile stretch of PCH that most of the people who work at, drive up from Cambria to a couple miles down. I talk to the bartender later that night who drives up to Oregon every couple years, to renew her car registration at her parents address. Only $80 for two years, no matter what year or model you have. Pretty good deal.
As I close down the bar she tells me the cooks and the wait staff in the adjacent dining room have been there all day. Since even before I ate my late breakfast there, because of how shorthanded they are. I think about trying to get a part time job under the table in exchange for a room, or a place to stay for a while, but decide I'm only about half way through California, and don't want to stay too long. Might have been cool though. The houses are out in the woods like a forrest town, but when you drive out from the dark tree cover, and into the sun, the huge ocean is sitting right there in front of you about a quarter mile from the woods. The best of both worlds I guess.
After checking out Hearst Castle the next day I drive up a ways, to what I had found through my digging on the internet, were a couple of roads off the beaten trail of the windy scenic part of PCH. Apparently littered with pullout spots to park your RV, or car for the night without anyone hassling you. It's called boondocking (no relation to the abominable waste of celluloid, Boondock Saints) and there are a few crude websites with directions, and coordinates to spots like this, but it's kind of hit and miss.
As night settled in, I climbed into the back of the trusty Volvo, turned on my lantern, and ate what has to be one of the worst meals in my life. A cold can of chili. At the time, it sounded like it might not be that bad, but I quickly figured out it was. The cold chili juice was the worst part. Like drinking a meat flavored water with bits of red and yellow peppers in it. I forced down about half the can, and waved the white flag. I couldn't eat anymore. As I was sitting there with an opened half can of chili, I started thinking about my surroundings. Not knowing exactly where I was, or how far bear country extends, I started to get a tad nervous. This was a fairly woodsy area in the middle of nowhere, and I'm sitting here eating with an open can of chili, and a bunch of food strewn about in the car. Kind of what you're not supposed to do. Visions of a bear come climbing up the hill out of nowhere onto the road, and slamming his shoulder into my car started to creep in. Turning off the lantern in the car, and revealing absolutely zero visibility in the dark didn't make it any easier. Especially when I decided I had to get out and take a piss. You'd think your eyes would adjust like normal, but after about fifteen minutes it was still as dark as when I first turned out the light. I don't usually get scared of things like this, but I got to admit, my pulse was a bit higher than normal stepping out of that car to expose myself to the cold night air, with about two feet of visibility. I guess being all alone in the middle of nowhere can have that affect more than one would think. I decided to make that my last piss of the night, and started reading the first book my hand touched in the box full of books I had wanted to read in my life, but never had the time. Hemingway's, The Old Man and the Sea.
Part 7: Monterey
I eventually made my way to Carmel by the Sea, and Monterey where I spent a good deal of time. A good couple weeks. At first I didn't really see the hype. I had already seen plenty of beach towns, and scenic shorelines, but after staying there a few days, and wandering about the rocky coastline, it started to sink in what a nice place this was. It's really hard to put a finger on why I liked it so much. It's supposedly one of the more expensive places to live in California, but it doesn't really have the flash of Malibu, or even parts of La Jolla. It has fairly nice houses but nothing extravagant that I saw. Nice views of the coastline, and rocky shores, but nothing awe inspiring like parts of PCH.
I think it's just the overall ambience. There's a little section of the main road that hugs the ocean near the Monterey Bay Aquarium. A little touristy, and a little snooty, but up the road a mile or so, it literally dies off about nine or ten. A beautiful rocky coastline, and view with no one around. No locals walking their dogs. No sketchy dudes roaming about. Not even any kids out drinking by the water. I did run into some deer though, whom I couldn't figure out where they came from. There's a trail that leads along the rocks at sea level, which by day is covered with locals, and tourists walking, and running along the beach. But early in the evening, there is literally no one.
I never understood why the people living in those likely multi million dollar homes along the beach, didn't come outside, and enjoy the air, and the atmosphere. It's really soothing and invigorating. You can hang out in one of the many little grassy park areas along the road, or walk out onto the rocks to take a few pulls off your flask like I did. Plenty of moonlight to see where you're walking, but from the street or anywhere semi close, you're invisible. You can see the whole ocean, and the whole coastline, and sit and listen to the waves and all the seals, but no one can see you. If I was a billionaire I'd buy houses for me, and all the people I care about, and take over the ocean front at night since no one else seems to want it.
Looking at the map I noticed Laguna Seca raceway, with it's famous downhill hill corkscrew turn, was only about ten miles inland. I never knew this is where it was. I decided to drive out and check it out, realizing as I got there it was also a campground. You can camp just 20 or so feet from the track. Pretty amazing given how iconic it is. It's got trails leading all around the racetrack, but it's hot as shit out during the summer. It's actually kind of a ghost town, which was kind of strange. There's one park ranger at the booth in the front of the track that leaves around 5, and just a few other construction workers strewn about working on parts of the infrastructure, but aside from that, no one. Anyone can come and go during the day, and probably do whatever during the night. I paid the fee, set up camp, and built a fire that was likely way too big for the surrounding dry brush, and low hanging trees.
Driving around outside the track the next day, I continued to notice how empty the place was for how big and important it is. Even noticing that a gate was left open leading onto the track at one part. On my way out and back to Monterey I kept thinking about that open gate, and eventually decided I had to turn around, and investigate it further. Driving back up the hill toward the race track I hoped the park ranger would be absent, and they were. I drove down toward the opening of the track, and noticed another camper on the hill setting up shop, and some construction workers a hundred feet away. I had dreams of putting the hammer down, and taking the track, and corkscrew head on. My plan being to pull a Dave Chappelle, and just say, "Sorry officer, I didn't know I couldn't do that" if I was caught. I still kind of wish I would have done it, but I settled on just putting four wheels on the track to say I drove on it, and turned around and left.
I found out Glenn and Lisa were in San Francisco for a wedding, and decided it was as good a time as any to leave Monterey for the City. It was good to catch up with them and Kris, Jess, and Sam even though it was pretty brief. Hung out with Lisa's fam for a bit and watched the 4th of July fireworks from a packed hilltop. The locals sending candle lit balloon lanterns into the night time sky. Coming within feet of giant trees, and historic homes to the oohs and aahhhs of the crowd.
Cruised around the city during the day. Had some drinks, and watched a jazz band with everyone later that night. All too brief. Finally I decided to head back out on the road the day everyone went to the wedding, and before they flew home, and/or returned to their daily lives. The whole time wishing so many things could be different, and so much time and space could be re-arranged.
I decide to park in the lot of one of the Scenic View pullout areas along the road, and try out my little foreman with the AC-DC convertor that plugs into the cigarette lighter to cook a burger. I sit there a while smoking a cigarette, taking in the view. I eventually plug in the foreman and……….nothing. Fucking thing doesn't work anymore. That thing was my plan for half my meals on the road. I seriously contemplate swinging it by the chord and just hucking it off the cliff into the Pacific, but my anti-littering policy gets the better of me.
In fact, speaking of which, I decided not to litter any cigarette butts the whole trip, and I haven't as of yet. I either put them out in the portable ashtray I bought for the car, or flick out the cherry and wait until I walk past a trash can. The idea of needlessly throwing something on the ground that you don't want, when at some point, someone else is going to have to deal with that, is really just pure selfishness when you think about it. Someone else is either going to have to either pick that up, or it's going to get flushed into the ocean. Doing things for your own benefit, when it makes someone else do more is way too prevalent in the world. Especially this country. It's part of the same reason certain people only say things for their own benefit, or to make themselves look better in some way. Unfortunately people fall for it, and impresses a lot of people. Things would be a lot better in the world if people were more conscious of whether what they were doing, or saying was purely for their own benefit, and if it might negatively affect someone else.
Anyway, I put out the cigarette in the portable ashtray, and hit the road again in search of the boondock spot to settle in for the night. The first spot on the map was a dirt road called Forrest Route 23S02. Right before a town called Gorda which supposedly has the most expensive gas price in the country, because it's located right in the middle of a treacherous Pacific Coast Highway. Not another station for 40 or 50 miles in either direction.
Part 5: PCH
The sun had just set as I hit the windy part of PCH, after a lengthy stretch of fairly straight open space roads, and it was starting to set in that it may be tougher than I thought, to find these supposed off beat roads in the dark foggy night. I passed a big David Lynch looking lodge with a bright red neon sign saying Ragged Point, and kept going. Looking at the map on my phone was no help, as there is no reception at all for like 80 miles on this part of PCH. My phone, uncooperative as always, was refusing to show me anything but what a new game of a minesweeper looks like. Perhaps under the impression I want to play a game with it, like the computer in War Games.
I kept driving, and driving, wondering if I had gone too far. Once I passed Gorda I knew I had. Slightly annoyed, and in the middle of nowhere along a treacherous PCH, I decided to head back the way I came hoping to find it. Once I hit the Ragged Point Hotel I knew I'd missed it again. Goddamn it. I guess it lived up to it's reputation of a mysterious, and fairly unknown road in the middle of nowhere. I decided to crash on the set of Twin Peaks for the night, and parked the Volvo in front of the rooms like I was a guest, and got out to have my nightly night cap before sleep. I sat on the edge of some type of alter or big gazebo type thing near the cliffs. The waves of the ocean crashing a couple hundred feet below somewhere in the dark of the night.
I woke up fairly early due to the people moving around and talking out front, and not wanting to get booted for sleeping there. These hotels usually keep a pretty tight watch and record of who is, and who isn't supposed to park there. I walked up to get some coffee at their little coffee shop, and walked towards the gazebo I had hung out at the night before. As I strolled up, the most incredible view of the ocean and cliffs popped out of nowhere, just beyond the tree I was sitting by the night prior. What an incredible spot. I had no idea it looked like this as I was sitting in the dark, drinking myself to sleepiness. A wide panoramic consisting of tall cliffs heading toward the heavens on the right, and a lush green/yellow field of flowers heading towards the rocky waters below. A view of PCH stretching out into the distance for miles. Looking down below revealed a little cove where the crashing waves I had heard in the night resided.
As I leaned against the railing, I saw a little pathway that lead down some steps, and looked to wind it's way throughout the little yellow flower fields, and down hundreds of feet to the cove. I decided to make what was likely a lengthy, and dedicated trip down the hill, stopping along the way to look back up to where I was standing. It was almost more beautiful in the middle of the trail, than it was at the top. A big waterfall appeared to the left above, where you couldn't see before, and lots of little hummingbirds, and bluejays flying about. About a half hour or so after I started, it finally lead all the way to the cove, where if you were sure footed enough you can climb about the rocks, and through the streams, and venture about. Nice area to explore.
After catching my breath, and spending an hour or so down there, I decided to make what would assuredly be a tougher climb back up the hill, than it was down. Stopping multiple times to catch my breath, it started to sink in how out of shape I was. Just then, one of those guys that makes his way down sketchy hills by running the whole way whizzes past me. Secretly I hope he would trip, and go flying into the brush, but he doesn't. Somehow these guys pull it off.
I grab a burger at the little food stand, and take off to find the elusive Forrest Route 23S02. Taking a closer look at the map, and with a little clearer view in the day, I finally find it a little before sunset. If you didn't know it was there, you probably wouldn't even notice it as you drove by. A steep dirt road that hugged the hills of the mountain leading upwards. I was actually getting a bit nervous at how my heavy rear wheel drive Volvo was gonna handle it, especially if the roads got really steep, or if the turns were really sharp coming back down. There wasn't a guard rail of any sort, so I'd just go flying off hundreds of feet to a final resting place. I decided not to push my luck too much and found a spot to pull off, and park for the night.
Part 6: Dreaming of lions on Nacimeiento
I woke up the next morning, a little more comfortable of my surroundings in the light of day, and safely navigated my way down the windy dirt road. Even getting a little cocky, and forcing a drift around a couple turns. The next boondocking spot on the map was another road off PCH called Nacimiento-Fergusson.
A paved road this time, which was a little better since a Volvo wagon isn't exactly suited for the beating of too many off road adventures. Just as windy as the Forrest Route, but with even more amazing views of the ocean below. As you come around turns it pops up, and leaves your jaw open a bit at what a sight it is. The kind of view that makes you wonder if a car coming the other way is looking at it, or you. About 20 minutes in, and traveling further and further up the steep hill, I looked back at the map and realized this road actually goes another 50-100 miles to a fort and army heliport, and eventually to the 101. I decided to pull off at the most amazing view I could find, and set up shop for the night.
What a view it was. I set the intervelometer on my camera, got the interval and shutter to what I thought it should be, and tried my hands on my first lengthy time-lapse. It ended up being ok, but I definitely wish I could have done a few things differently. When I came back the next night to try it again the fog rolled up like a smoke monster, and shrouded everything in darkness. After polishing off the rest of my Canadian Club in a fashion that would make Hemingway proud, I finished my book, and hit the sack for the night. In hopes of dreams of lions on Nacimiento.
After wearing out the brakes on my Volvo on my way up and down the hill a couple times, and venturing about PCH taking it all in, I stayed another night. This time a little further downhill towards the road, below the fog. Finally heading out the next day wondering who stays in the random little houses you can see strewn up the mountain, and how the hell you get there? Surely it can't be the roads I had driven on. They were way out of the way, and in another direction from where the road seemed to lead.
Feeling like I wasn't too far off from becoming one of those guys, I pressed on up PCH. What a beautiful drive that is. That part of PCH really is all it's cracked up to be. From Ragged Point all the way through Big Sur and eventually to Carmel. Scenic the whole way through, and lots of places to stop off. Little known places with with trails that lead to big waterfalls. Pull out spots along the cliffs with amazing views. Twisting two lane roads with no guard rail that get your adrenaline pumping. I can't imagine what it would be like if I had a car that could actually handle the roads well. I've played too many video, and computer games growing up to the point where I literally can't drive roads like that, without trying to take the optimal line. I catch myself doing it without thinking on every turn, taking up the whole road when it's safe. Makes me wish I still had my Saab Aero. Would have made for a fun drive.
I eventually made my way to Carmel by the Sea, and Monterey where I spent a good deal of time. A good couple weeks. At first I didn't really see the hype. I had already seen plenty of beach towns, and scenic shorelines, but after staying there a few days, and wandering about the rocky coastline, it started to sink in what a nice place this was. It's really hard to put a finger on why I liked it so much. It's supposedly one of the more expensive places to live in California, but it doesn't really have the flash of Malibu, or even parts of La Jolla. It has fairly nice houses but nothing extravagant that I saw. Nice views of the coastline, and rocky shores, but nothing awe inspiring like parts of PCH.
I never understood why the people living in those likely multi million dollar homes along the beach, didn't come outside, and enjoy the air, and the atmosphere. It's really soothing and invigorating. You can hang out in one of the many little grassy park areas along the road, or walk out onto the rocks to take a few pulls off your flask like I did. Plenty of moonlight to see where you're walking, but from the street or anywhere semi close, you're invisible. You can see the whole ocean, and the whole coastline, and sit and listen to the waves and all the seals, but no one can see you. If I was a billionaire I'd buy houses for me, and all the people I care about, and take over the ocean front at night since no one else seems to want it.
Part 8: Sounds of San Francisco and beyond
After that I spent a couple days in the serenity of Napa, and then continued north exploring the Redwood Forrest, before passing through Crescent City, and finally across the border to what, unbeknownst to me, would be my home for the next few months. Portland, Oregon.
